


My Guardian Monster

by pasttheshy0713



Category: Michael Jackson (Musician)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Ghosts short film, Self-Indulgent, with a side of petty revenge fantasy later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasttheshy0713/pseuds/pasttheshy0713
Summary: There is a criminal lack of MJ fanfic on here in general, so I've decided to remedy this. Based on the Ghosts short film.





	1. Chapter 1

The night you met him was during a terrible storm, as if the world was reflecting your turbulent state of mind. You were desperate, panicked, just wanted to get away from people to quiet your thoughts. You were angry enough that your dorm didn’t feel like an option. As your heart hammered in your chest, you saw the mansion behind rusted iron gates, opened just barely enough to squeeze through. 

Lightning flashed and thunder cracked over your head as the sky opened up and soaked you. You scrambled to the front doors and tried the handles, but they wouldn’t budge. “Please, please no!” You pounded on the door. “Please let me in, I can’t go back to-Aahh!” They swung inward sharply, stirring up dust and dead leaves. You entered hesitantly, alert from adrenaline and trying to figure out what allowed the doors to open. If what you’d been told was true, this place was haunted, and no one would even consider to look for you here. 

That was what you wanted now, more than anything. Small towns always had local ghost stories, places and times that people knew to stay away from. What did it matter if the dead saw you like this? It’s the living that always did the most damage.

You shivered as you took off your jacket and tried to rub some of the feeling back into your arms. You cursed inwardly at being ill-prepared, not for the first time. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the entrance hall as you began to explore. You expected at least some of the doors to be locked, but some actually opened. The rooms contained furniture covered in dusty sheets, and in the dark they seemed like animals in hiding. 

Then you heard a crackling and popping sound from the end of the hallway. Another room contained a strong fire burning pleasantly in the fireplace. You let out a relieved sigh and kneel in front of it, rubbing your hands and shaking out your wet hair. The smell of the burning wood was comforting, reminding you of childhood camping trips.   
That’s when it all caught up with you. What had you done wrong? You overheard the punchline to a joke you didn’t understand and you got your head bit off for it. You were just starting to feel like you could call them friends, that’s the real kick in the teeth. You thought there was a general understanding that as social outcasts, you would support and protect each other. But evidently there is a hierarchy even among outcasts. 

You can still feel his words burning your ears and making you sick to your stomach. “Are you fucking serious right now? Here’s what you need to do. Go home, lock yourself in your garage, turn on your car and start sucking pipe. You’d be doing the world a favor putting that waste of a brain out of its misery. What, are you gonna fucking cry about it now? Brain dead bitch! Not even a zombie would fuck your corpse!” 

And then there was silence. No one said anything to him. Nobody told him he was wrong. You didn’t even know this guy’s name and he’d decided you needed to die in a specific painful way just because you asked him to explain a joke. What kind of people had you put your trust in? How could anyone respond to something like that?  
The tears squeezed out through your tightly shut eyes. You clench your fists and wraps your arms around yourself, trembling with rage and confusion. You’re gasping for breath, determined not to shame yourself further by sobbing out loud like an undisciplined child.

Suddenly, something pokes you sharply in the back. You yelp and fall to the side, then scramble to regain your balance and see what’s happening. In the light of the fire, a hooded figure stands above you, with a skull grinning from inside the cloak. Your mouth hangs open, unable to form proper words. Another panicked thought runs through your mind. ‘Am I going to die?’

But then another surprise. The specter starts laughing. A human hand reaches out from within the cloak and removes the skull. “Did I scare you?” It’s someone new. You know you’ve never seen him before. He’s human, or at least appears to be. There’s something unnerving about him, but he doesn’t seem cruel. Far from it. Then your brain kicks in again. The fire should have indicated you weren’t alone. If he lives here, then you’re trespassing. 

“I’m sorry!” You blurt out, bowing from your knees. “I’ll leave as soon as the rain stops, I promise, the door was open and-,“ “Stop, stop. I know that, already. Who do you think let you in?” He says, dismissively, waving his hand. “Wait, that was you? With the doors? But-achoo!” Your sneeze interrupts your own words. “Bless you.” He responds. You blink as you wipe your face. Who says that anymore?

“Oh, where are my manners?” He removes his cloak with a flourish and wraps it around your own shoulders. “There we go. You look like you need it more, anyway.” He offers you a smile, and it makes you feel like crying again. His treatment is such a sharp contrast to how they treated you earlier today. “Th-thank you.” You whisper as you pull his cloak tighter around you and turn to face the fire. There is a brief moment of silence, and then you hear him sit next to you. 

“May I ask what brings you to my home in such dismal conditions?” His voice is quiet, showing concern but not forcefully. ‘This stranger cares more about me than they do.’ You think. You take a deep breath, try to steady your voice. “I didn’t…want…anyone to see me…like this.” “Like what?” “Emotional and gross.” “What? Who said that to you?” You huff a little breath. “It doesn’t m-“ “Yes it does.” His voice sharpens so fast with just three words. You look at him in surprise. His face is like a dark lake, hiding danger beneath a deceptively calm surface. In the firelight, his eyes almost look like they’re burning. “Who is it?” He asks again. “What is their name?” The thunder and lightning punctuate the last word, seconds apart. 

You can feel your heart hammering again, but not for the same reason as earlier. “I don’t even know it. Please, he’s not worth getting angry over.” You attempt to hold his gaze, silently willing him to see the truth. Eventually he breaks it, turning towards the fire. Your hands are trembling, and again you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.   
“I shouldn’t be surprised.” He starts. “But it sickens me how stupid and cruel some people can be. How they think they can say anything and get away with it.” Something about his words sets off a dull ache in your chest and the pit of your stomach. You want to…what? What do you want? You take in his features, a strong jawline, warm eyes now occupied with thought, black curly hair that falls to his shoulders, and you think ‘He’s stunning.’ 

Then he turns back to you, making your pulse skip. “For the record, they’re wrong, whoever they are.” “Huh?” “I know what gross is. You’re definitely not it.” You desperately want to change the subject. “Do you really live here?” “Yes. Is that so surprising?” “Ah, a little. I mean, from what I’ve seen, this house is in rough shape.” “Well I suppose it’s seen better days. But I like it like this. The roughness and injuries are proof of history, gives it character.” “Okay, fair enough. But doesn’t it get drafty in the winter?” He smiled slowly, as if about to reveal a secret. “We have plenty of ways to keep warm.”

That unnerving feeling was crawling up your back. “We?” “Yes. My family and I.” You wanted to ask more, but then he said “My turn now. Tell me about you.” “Wh-oh! Um…I’m a student at the university. English major.” “I thought so. It’s easy to tell when someone enjoys a good story. Have you made any friends?” You felt a twinge in your chest and your eyes threaten to betray you. “…I thought I did.” You can’t look at him, you feel as if you could shatter at any moment. Then you feel a gentle hand on top of your head, stroking your damp hair. “It’s alright.” He says. “You can be sad or angry if you need to be. To truly begin to heal, one needs to own their pain and experience.”   
You can’t take it anymore. You cover your face with your hands and sob bitterly. “Nobody else said anything! They-they just watched him say those awful things…! What did I do wrong?” He embraces you and pulls you close, his hand still cupping the back of your head protectively. “It’s not you, it’s not.” “What makes him think… what kind of person just-“ You stutter, unable to find the words you need, devolving into pained sounds through gritted teeth. And he’s holding you, like a child, giving you an anchor as the storm inside rolls out of you.

“I know I haven’t been here for very long, but I honestly thought they were starting to…like me.” The last two words squeak out of your throat, as if admitting that was something shameful. Even before you moved to Normal Valley, making friends was not something that came easily to you. Making the decision to live on your own was a difficult one, and you suspected you only did it because it was what people were supposed to do. That if you weren’t meeting expectations by a certain age, you were a failure.   
“He told me to kill myself.” You couldn’t not say it, like you were purging something toxic from the depths of your stomach. “Normally I could have ignored it, he’s a stranger, who cares what he thinks? But he got up in my face about it. He got detailed. Like it wasn’t enough that he wanted me to die, I had to do it his way. Fuck that noise. Fuck OFF!”   
All these thoughts swirled in your head like a shaken snow globe, and you could feel the fatigue setting in. You never liked getting angry, it always made you so tired afterwards. But the warmth of the fire and his arms around you were so welcoming, gave a sense of security you hadn’t felt in years. “Please…” He says quietly. “Tell me your name. Who are you?” You murmur it as your head rests on his shoulder. “That’s pretty. It suits you.” You’ve never believed strangers when they said that to you, but somehow you’re happy hearing it from him. 

“And what about you?” You ask, trying to stay awake long enough to hear him. “Who are you, that can live in a rundown mansion overlooking a Puritan village for the aesthetic?” He laughs, quick and light, next to your ear. “I am the Maestro. That’s all the name I’ve ever needed.” The rain on the roof was still drumming steadily. “Maestro…” That word tingled your mouth when you said it, left a spark in the air. “Shhh…” His hand that was petting your head gently covers your eyes. “Rest now. Don’t waste any more tears on that garbage.” You can feel him lowering you onto something soft, and your head feels heavy as sleep settles upon you. You can hear him humming.


	2. The morning after...?

When you wake up in your own bed, it’s difficult to not be more than a little mopey. Had it just been a dream, conjured by shock and exhaustion? But you could still feel the stone floor under your hands, smell the musty furniture. The details were too clear, the sensations too sharp. You remembered the dust and leaves on the floor, the cobwebs in the corners…the warmth of his embrace…  
“Shit, not now!” You clap your hands to your face, trying to get rid of that dopey, fuzzy feeling clouding your head. “Stop it. It happened, but it’s over. No use dwelling on the past. Now come on, it’s going to be a long day.”  
Your jacket and shoes were where they always were. Apart from sleeping in your clothes, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Until you put on your jacket and something fell out of the pocket.  
It was a piece of stationary paper folded to the size of a notecard, with a pressed wax seal holding it closed. You definitely didn’t have that yesterday. Looking closer, you see the seal has the letter M inside it.  
For a second you forget to breathe. You want to open it immediately, but now you’re running late. This is something you don’t want anyone else to see, so your press it inside of your textbook, sling on your backpack and hurry to class.  
Thankfully, the class is big enough that you don’t attract attention sitting in the back of the room. You feel for the note inside your book, your seatmates either frantically typing next to you or slumped over from caffeine withdrawl. Carefully, you break the seal, trying not to leave flakes of wax laying around. The message is brief.  
If it happens again, tell me. Even if you don’t know his name. Maestro.  
‘What exactly is he offering?’ You think. At the least, it sounds like an open invitation to vent your frustrations, a shoulder to cry on. And you realize you want to see him again. Just the idea that he wants to comfort you, defend you…You might be in trouble.  
After class, you decide to investigate those playground ghost stories you’ve been told by your now tentative friends. All lore has some grain of truth to it that gets them started. You have this nagging suspicion that Normal Valley has been built on some unsavory secrets.  
You do find that the mansion has a name, Somewhere Else. According to the maps from when it was built, it’s not actually a part of the town. It’s just outside the border, making it private property. There’s something sad and yet darkly humorous about that. You know how it feels to be on the outside looking in, wanting to be accepted yet never quite feeling like you belong. But you can’t seem to find the name of who built Somewhere Else or for what purpose.  
You try to remember how it went. You’d been told that the mansion had been built by a German aristocrat with an unknown illness. Because he was so private, he’d been the subject of discussion among the villagers. Kids had dared each other to sneak in for years as a rite of passage. But then a little girl had gone missing, and panic turned neighbors against each other. They were so determined to find someone to blame that they broke into the mansion and tore it apart looking for the child’s body. The aristocrat died shortly after that, and his final words to the priest were that he would give anything for the girl’s murderer to be brought to justice. Exactly seven days later, her uncle was found in the church, begging for forgiveness and claiming to have seen demons who had tormented him until he confessed to where his niece’s body was.  
You’re digesting these thoughts on the way back to your dorm. Was the Maestro you met last night really a ghost? How else could you have fallen asleep there and woken up in your own bed? He had definitely felt like a flesh and blood human, not cold at all. Anything you remember about ghosts say that the air always turns deathly cold in the presence of a spirit. Was that the reason for the fire, to mask any unnatural chill?  
CRUNCH! A loud noise snaps you back into the present. You look up…and your stomach immediately clenches. It’s HIM. The noise was an empty beer can being crushed under his heavy combat boot. His bleached blonde hair stands out starkly against his black clothes, and his face is annoyingly clean. He should at least have acne for how much toxic vitriol he spewed at you yesterday.  
Before you can even think of looking for another way, he looks up…and your eyes meet. You curse internally.  
He stands up. He’s walking towards you. Your brain is screaming at you to move, anywhere, just get away from him, but your body doesn’t want him to win. If you run you’re a coward and proving him right. You brace yourself…and he walks past you.  
He fucking walked right past you.  
Without even a second glance.  
Like he doesn’t even remember.  
Like he expected you to let the whole thing go.  
Like what he did has no consequences.  
You’re angry. You feel like you want to be sick. He treated you like you weren’t even human and didn’t even flinch. Somehow ignoring you is more insulting than anything he could have said. You grit your teeth and glare at his retreating back.  
“HEY!” The yell bursts from your throat and your feel something burning in the pit of your stomach. He stops and slowly turns around to face you. “Don’t you walk away like you don’t see me!” This isn’t like you, not at all. But you can’t stop the words. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, garbage! What kind of person gets off on telling girls to commit suicide, you sick fuck?!”  
Now you’re closer to him. And he’s smiling. Starting to fucking laugh. You’re stunned still, unable to wrap your head around this situation and shocked that any human being could act like this. Does he truly think this is funny?  
“And what are you going to do about it?” He asks, without a care in the world. “You gonna hit me? I’ll report you for assault.” “I could report you for harassment.” You counter back. “Who’d believe that? Anyone honestly think you’re good looking enough to get anyone up?” His lewdness throws you off. You don’t know how to respond to that. “Appearance has nothing to do with-“ “You want attention? Is that what this is about?” He sneers, looking like a full blown creep. “Get away from me!” You recoil back a few steps. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You just keep your mouth shut, little girl. No one will believe you anyway.” Then he starts walking away, like this was something that happens every day.  
Your eyes start to sting with tears and you get that prickly feeling in the end of your nose. Somehow, you are going to get his name.  
As it turns out, you don’t have to wait long. No sooner do you make that decision, then he is suddenly attacked by a crow. It caws loudly as it flaps and scratches around his head, and he yells a blue streak and swings his bag wildly. He hadn’t closed it all the way, and some of his things fall out. As he picks them up, you see the crow take something in its beak and retreat to the safety of the trees.  
After he storms off, you make your way to underneath the tree where the crow is sitting. You can see it holding a white plastic rectangle. It might just be what you need. But how can you get the crow to drop it?  
You remember crows like shiny things. In the late afternoon sun, you try to reflect the light at the crow with a short chain of foil gum wrappers you’ve built up over the week. It turns to you and bobs, as if it’s thinking about something. You leave the chain on the ground, underneath the tree and retreat a few steps. The crow bobs again, and lands on the ground, drops the plastic card, takes the chain and flies away to another tree.  
It actually worked. You hurry to pick up the object. It’s his student ID card. You’ve got his name now. Brody Stevens.  
~~~~~~~~~  
The distance to Somewhere Else seems like nothing now. You’ve been thinking the whole way there. What would you say? What did you want to do? You’ve just managed to keep your anger and disgust simmering. You have to keep it together until you can tell him, otherwise you’ll chicken out and never do anything about it.  
You knock on the familiar heavy doors. It’s nearly sunset. ‘Can he only come out at night?’, you wonder. “Maestro? Are you home?” No answer. “Please let me in. I…he…I saw him again.” You hear the lock unbolt and the right hand door swings open gently with a creak.  
Hurrying inside, you quickly look behind the doors, but no one is there. It’s quiet, except for a faint breeze. You try to find your way back to the room with the fireplace. “Maestro?” you ask again. No answer. Frustration is gnawing in your guts. In the final light of the sunset, you whisper, “Please…I need you.”  
“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon, Y/N.”  
You gasp and whip around to face him. You’re so relieved he’s real, you forget to be mad at him. “Oh, thank God…you’re really here.”  
He tilts his head in confusion. “You didn’t think I would be?”  
“When I woke up this morning, it had crossed my mind.” You had your hands clasped in front of you and they’re shaking. “…I have his name.”  
He’s silent for a moment. Then… “You’re upset. Tell me what happened.”  
You’re surprised that he could tell so easily. But that’s not important right now. You swallow nervously and try to keep your voice steady. “At first he acted like he didn’t even see me. But I told him what he did was wrong and he just laughed at me. He taunted me and I threatened to report him for harassment. But he said no one would believe me…” You didn’t want to repeat the last part. It made you sick and humiliated thinking about it. “He’s disgusting. He’s a complete pig. I don’t know what’s worse, that he doesn’t think of the consequences of what he says or that he does know and gets some sick kicks from it. I feel so…useless.”  
The Maestro holds you close once again, trying to soothe your fears and anger, gently stroking your back. You wrap your arms around his waist, and he asks you a question. “What do you want to do?”  
“E-excuse me?”  
“You’re the victim. It’s completely your decision. I have some…talents that could tip justice in your favor a little, but I need to know what you want to happen. Precisely.”  
“So it’s true then?”  
He pushes back and looks you straight in the eyes. “What have you heard?”  
“That you’re…not human.” His face is stern, wary, but not angry.  
“…Not anymore. Not for a long time.” You swear you can hear your own heartbeat.  
“Does that scare you?” He asks slowly. You’ve been thinking about this all day.  
“A little, but…you were kind to me. You haven’t given me a reason to distrust you. If you’d wanted me to leave, I’m sure you could have done so easily. But you opened your home to me when you didn’t have to. You trusted me, and that is not something I take lightly. I want to be worthy of that trust.”  
His defensive sharpness softens a bit. “I appreciate your honesty. Don’t lose that.” Then he smiles in a way that sends chills up your back, but you think you might like it. “Now, are you going to invoke your victims right to seek justice or what?”  
And you give him your decision. “I want to scare him.”


	3. Petty Vengeance

It’s dark now. You can see him in the middle of an animated conversation with his similarly dressed friends. “Yeah right, you are such a lying sack of crap!” They all laugh for reasons you couldn’t care less about. How can you separate that garbage from the rest of his herd? Somewhere Else was too far away to chase him to on your own, so you intended to corner him in the cemetery. Maestro said his family would handle the rest once you were inside the gates. 

You mutter under your breath, “How about a coyote?” A sharp, thin howl cuts through the night air, causing the group you’re watching to look around quickly for where it’s coming from. “What the-?” “Shit, that sounded close.” “Maybe we should get going, the thing could have rabies.” Brody scoffs. “It’s just digging through garbage. You’re seriously ready to piss yourselves over some mangy dog?” You hiss through your teeth and try again. “Try an owl.” A screech sounded off in a different place, going higher until it sounds like a scream. One of them mutters “Damn.” 

They didn’t move. Looks like they need something a little more forceful. You mutter again, “You know what a police siren sounds like?” Then a wail starts up, far away but steadily getting louder. “Shit, we need to move.” They start running and pushing each other in the direction of the cemetery. You cross your arms and huff slightly. “Should have known that would be it.” 

You adjust the hood of your sweatshirt and put your hands in your pockets, leisurely walking after them into the cemetery. It’s strange, you thought you would have a moment of apprehension, or maybe anticipation for seeing the person that verbally battered you get what they deserve. But right now, you don’t feel much of anything. 

One of the street lamps flickers as you walk past it. Knowing what to expect now going in, you think it’s silly to be afraid of a place like this. It’s actually rather peaceful…until someone screams. Now you’re feeling it. A rush, a thrill skitters through your body as your feet take you in the direction of terrified shouts and a thumping beat that seems to come from the very air around you. 

"You’re fearing me, ‘cause you know I’m a beast  
Watching you when you sleep, when you’re in bed I’m underneath  
You’re trapped in halls, my face is in the walls  
I’m the floor when you fall, and when you scream, it’s ‘cause of me  
I’m the living dead, dark thoughts inside your head  
I know just what you said  
That’s why you got to be threatened by me!"

The sight was breathtaking. An entire troupe of spirits in various historical costumes was coordinating this terror rather impressively. One of the idiots tried to punch a fellow dressed as a harlequin and fell right through him. You see a pair of hands reach out from underneath a shrubbery and grab another one’s ankles, toppling him on his stomach and knocking the wind out of him. Brody had his back to a tree and swore again, loudly when a colonial minuteman fell out, upside down, in front of him. 

"You should be watching me, you should feel threatened  
When you sleep, why you creep, you should feel threatened  
Everytime your lady speaks, she speaks to me, threatened  
Half of me you’ll never be, so you should feel threatened by me!"

Brody was trying to make a break for it, but thick tangled roots reached up out of the ground and wrapped around his legs. His so-called friends were scattering and not even looking back. He shouted and cursed after them, fumbling for a knife in his pocket, but that was quickly slapped away and he was pulled waist deep into the ground. He was starting to panic. It was nearly your cue…

```````````````````````````````  
“Crows are very intelligent creatures. They can remember quite a lot.” Maestro said, stroking the bird that landed on his shoulder. “Injuries and kindnesses alike, they teach to their children who to avoid, and who they can trust. They have become my eyes and ears to much of the outside world now.” He smoothly transfers his feathered friend to your own shoulder, and he croaks a low caw. “I can see everything Edgar sees, so tell your instructions to him, and we’ll make it happen.” Now this is starting to feel real. “…I don’t want to hurt him, really. I just…want to give him something to think about.” “Well, actions speak louder than words. It shows what a person truly believes in. So the real question, Y/N, is what do you believe in?”   
``````````````````````````````  
The spirits were closing in around him. They were taunting him, menacing their cold hands and scratching at him. He couldn’t fend them off and keep from getting dragged under at the same time, so he had to make a choice…and you were actually shaking with anticipation. What would he choose? Surely he wanted to live, didn’t he? He was certainly yelling like it. But would he actually say it? 

“NOOOOOO!!!! IDON’TWANTTODIIIIIEEE!!!!”

Now. You bolted from your hiding place and ran through the crowd of spirits. Edgar had the good sense to hide somewhere else. As they dispersed into silver colored clouds, you grabbed Brody’s hand and yanked on his arm, your heels digging into the loose soil. He gasped and coughed as he fought to free his body to the surface. You managed to sit up from the momentum and looked over Brody as he rolled over on his back. 

“Are you alright?” you ask him. He opened his eyes in shock and scrambled to stand up and turn around. “What the fuck?! Who-where did-?”   
“Yeah, I heard you yelling. What the hell happened to you?”   
“ME?! Why are you in a graveyard in the middle of the night?!”   
“Could ask you the same thing.” He stopped and had a second of logic catching up to him. “Okay, fine, whatever. I just want to get the hell out of here.”   
“You sure you’re alright?”   
“WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU CARE!!!” He snapped at you.   
You hold up your empty hands. You anticipated this. “…I just heard someone in trouble.”  
He seemed reluctant to lower his impotent fists, and the expression on his face was of utter confusion. “Wait, what?”  
“I’m not like you, Brody. I don’t enjoy watching people suffer, no matter who they are.”  
Before he could argue, you continued. “Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you do. I’m going to leave now, but you take care alright?” And you start to walk away.   
But Brody is apparently not convinced. Without warning his arm is around your neck, trying to cut off your air. “I don’t know how you did this bitch, but I know you’re responsible!” he hisses next to your ear.

Then a voice that is not your own speaks through your body. “You truly don’t know when to quit, do you? Pity, it would be admirable if you weren’t so stupid and cruel.” 

You can see your hands grabbing his arm and flipping him over your shoulder. Then the transformation starts. Your hands become big and rough skinned with dark jagged claws where your nails used to be. Your hair becomes long and wild, falling down your back and over your face. And your teeth have grown past your lips, significantly sharper. You’re no longer human. You’ve become something else entirely.

````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
“Just as a final precaution, please take this with you.” Maestro ties a small glass bottle around your neck with a black cord. Inside is what appears to be a few drops of some kind of molten silver liquid.   
“What is this?”   
“This will allow you to share a bit of my power if something goes wrong.”  
“Y-you can do that?” “Yes, and much more…” He trails off, his expression something like teasing to your imagination. Despite the situation, you feel flattered at his concern for you.  
“Am I supposed to drink it or what?” you ask, looking at the dubious contents of the bottle. He giggles in response. “No, no, contact with your skin should be enough.”  
``````````````````````````````````````````````

You can see Brody staring up at you, dumbfounded and disbelieving at your change. You feel…powerful. Dangerous. Crouching in front of him you utter a single word.  
“Run.”   
He does, pathetically and screaming again. You run after him and overtake him easily. So easily in fact, you wheel around and clothesline him to the ground. He falls on his back, gasping for air. Your giant hand grips his chin and you make sure he’s looking you in the eyes. 

“ You listen closely Brody Stevens, because I’m only saying this once. Think. Before. You Speak.” 

He starts grimacing in defiance again, but now, you open your mouth and ROAR. Loud enough to make your own ears ring with an echo. Brody has pinched his eyes shut, now terrified to move. Flecks of your spit have dampened his face. Slowly he opens them.  
You back off and stand over him.   
“Now leave us alone. And take a damn shower.”  
His retreating back is the last thing you saw. 

Suddenly, you feel exhausted and just want to lie down. You can hear your own heartbeat underneath the cool autumn breeze and the crickets chirping around you. You can feel someone lifting you into their arms, and you don’t have to see them to know who it is.  
“Maestro…?” You murmur, your head resting on his shoulder.  
“Yes, Y/N?” he replies.   
“Can I…see you again?”  
“Of course, sweetheart.”


End file.
